The Matchmaker
by DFaraS
Summary: Pre LOTR Elrond, disgruntled at the apparent lifematch between his daughter and a human, has been throwing suitors at her left and right. Rivendell's resident matchmaker is getting fed up, and so are Arwen's suitors.


Manarie was not the most beautiful of elves.

Well, that was actually a bit of an understatement. Manarie was one of those elves that you tilted your head at, wondering if they were actually and elf, or an exceptionally ethereal human. She was a tad on the short side (for an elf), her mousy brown hair a bit on the frizzy side, and her blue eyes tended toward drab gray when she chose unflattering colors, which was often. Her teeth were straight and even, but her two front ones were slightly larger than average. The bone structure in her face made her look slightly hawk-like, the bone structure in her body made her look slightly dumpy.

All in all, if she hadn't the pointed ears and otherworldly light of her elven kin, she would have been a rather average looking human. As it was, she was a rather poor looking elf.

Not that this bothered her, though she had to deal with empty-headed chambermaids of the princess on many occasions. Manarie was not interested in elf men. Nor, as many elves believed and whispered, was she interested in elf women. She was interested in writing, in music, in books, and most of all, in matchmaking.

It was her specialty, matchmaking. She had a deft eye for who should and should not belong together. Take, for instance, the princess and the latest suitor her father had paraded in front of her in a vain attempt to make her forget about Aragorn. Arwen and Legolas (Manarie would have paid a lot of money to know how Elrond had convinced _him_ to play suitor) were clearly not meant to be.

Sadly, Elrond didn't see it that way. Manarie paused in her writing for a moment, lifting her quill from the parchment so as not to create a blot, and indulged in a fatalistic sigh. Once Aragorn son of Arathorn returned, she was _sure_ Arwen would dump even the polite pretense she had been holding up and return to her love.

Now _there _was a match made by the Valar! Aragorn and Arwen were truly in love, and they didn't even require her special brand of help to get them to admit it to one another. The sooner Elrond accepted it, the sooner he could move on to matchmaking for his sons.

Or, more accurately, the sooner he could approach _her_ about matchmaking for his sons, the way he had about Arwen and Legolas. Manarie, of course, had refused to have anything to do with breaking Arwen and Aragorn apart. It was against her ethics to split a couple up for the sake of another, especially an ill-matched one.

Well. Now she had to find someone for Legolas. She propped her chin on her hand, her blue-gray eyes unfocused as she stared at the wall of the recording hut. The only problem with that was that she had _no_ idea whether Legolas himself preferred men or women. That would take a bit of research, and research meant contacts.

Contacts with Mirkwood meant one of the delegates that had come with Legolas as his princely escort. Manarie snorted and made a face at the thought of asking any of _them_; they were more pompous than some of Lord Elrond's advisors. She sighed, trimmed her quill where the ink had dried on it, and re-wet it, continuing in her notes. She was copying one of the old, moldy records – with her own embellishments, of course – and was bored out of her mind. So far, no-one had approached her to intervene on their behalf, not since she had publicly expelled Lord Elrond from her office after he refused to leave. Being the Recorder gave her certain privileges, one of which being that no-one of rank could claim offense from her. It was her job to be blunt, prickly, and generally unlikable.

A loud, almost frantic knock at her door interrupted her chronicling again, and she looked up, putting her quill aside for the moment. Making sure all her "confidential" files were tucked away under her desk, she arranged her robes. "Come in," she called.

Lady Arwen rushed inside and shut the door behind her, panting. She leaned against it, keeping it closed, and turned pleading eyes on Manarie. "Hide me, please?"

"What is it this time?" Manarie asked, absentmindedly picking up her quill and gnawing on the end of it.

"Glorfindel and my other brothers have decided to play 'Hawks and Chickens,' as if they were children again. I suppose Glorfindel is nervous about the shadow in the east," she said breathlessly.

"Let me guess; they chose you as a chicken," Manarie said dryly. "Come, Lady, why not let them catch you?"

"They would muss my hair! And my dress! _And_ it would be undignified," Arwen said. Her hand went to the mass of braids piled on top of her head, her expression worried.

Manarie barely contained her laughter. "I am certain, Lady, that by the time your Aragorn returned from his a-wandering, the tale of the fair Arwen Undomniel reduced to a child would be far past," she said. "But nevertheless, I am always and forever the champion of lovers in distress. Come, hide in my personal quarters. I will bodily eject him from here if necessary."

Arwen's lips twitched at the thought of not-so-tall, not-so-strong Manarie throwing her brother Glorfindel, a border guard, from her hut. She ducked gratefully into Manarie's private room, pulling the door almost closed behind her.

Manarie took her seat at her desk again, beginning to write. Another knock sounded on the door, followed by, "Mana-mouse, let us in!"

Anyone else calling her by that nickname would have been beaten about the head by a rather thick book. Glorfindel, however, had impunity. "Come," she called, still writing. He entered, and the rest of the pack began to enter after them, until she looked up from her parchment with a baleful glare. "I will not have a gaggle in here while I am working, Glorfindel," she said severely.

"Oh, come now, Mana-mouse," Glorfindel said with a laugh. "We are only searching for my sister; surely you have seen her. She ran this way."

"Why, praytell, are you searching for her? And so thoroughly that you saw fit to check the Recorder's hut!"

"She has escaped a came of Hawks and Chickens… she was the Chicken, we are the Hawks," one of the younger brothers explained. Manarie felt her lips twitch, but repressed the smile. The younger brothers all looked as if they would rather be _anywhere_ else but the Recorder's hut, especially when _this_ Recorder was the one on duty.

"A rather one-sided game, don't you think?" she asked, gnawing on the end of her quill again. Glorfindel grinned unremorsefully. "Well, in any case, she never came to _my_ door, so you and your _crowd_ can leave me be."

"We aren't a crowd, Mana," Glorfindel protested. "We're a tierce."

"And what is a tierce?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"A group of hawks, of course," Glorfindel answered.

"Tierce is the hour exactly between dawn and noon, you goose, not a group of hawks," Manarie said. "There _is_ no word for a group of hawks. Hawks don't _travel_ in groups. This is why Hawks and Chickens always has _one_ hawk and a mob of _chickens_, not the reverse."

"So we modified the rules," Glorfindel said with a shrug. "I know Arwen is in here. Oh, _Arwen_," he called, starting toward Manarie's private room.

He stopped short when a rather heavy tome flew across the room, scant inches from his nose, and hit the wall with a _thump_. "Shameful, Lord, to enter a lady's room without asking her first! If this is how you treat _all_ the ladies you court, it is no wonder none of them will settle with you!"

Turning, Glorfindel spotted Manarie hefting another book, her quill set entirely aside, aiming _this_ one straight at his nose. "Mana-mouse," he protested.

"I am _not_ listening," Manarie responded. "You and your _tierce _will take your leave of the Recorder's hut, or you will have a little taste of how I expelled your father day before last!"

Seeing that she was serious, or at least, as serious as Manarie got, Glorfindel laughed and lifted his hands in surrender. "Oh, how fearsome you are when armed! I fear I can no longer address you as mouse, Lady Recorder! Nay, I fear I will have to change your name to Mana-lion!" he laughed.

"Knave! Leave my hut at once, foul jester!" Manarie cried playfully, making to throw the book at him. Still laughing, Glorfindel hurried out, herding his younger brothers in front of him.

Manarie got up, retrieved the book, and set it back on her desk. She then walked to the window, spying the tierce – Manarie snorted to herself – wandering off to search the woods. She pushed the door to her quarters open and put her head in, finding Arwen with a pillow shoved against her face to keep from laughing aloud.

"It is safe now, Lady. I, your humble servant, have driven the tierce of evil hawks from my home, and given you safe passage back to your own."

"Oh, Mana! That… you…" Arwen collapsed again in gales of laughter, not even trying to smother it this time. "You were wonderful!"

Manarie looked smug. "Well," she said, "acting is a bit of my business."

"And you got me away from my horrible brothers. How can I repay you?" Arwen asked, re-arranging her dress and replacing the pillow, still giggling a little.

Manarie brightened at this unlooked-for opportunity. "You know about my… other profession, yes?"

"The matchmaking? Of course. Who in Rivendell doesn't?" Arwen laughed. "Especially after the other day. Poor Father!"

"Well, as it happens, Legolas _must_ be wearing thin playing your suitor when it is so obvious you are devoted to another. I am looking for a companion for him…" Manarie blinked when the princess went off in giggles again. Then she narrowed her eyes. "It is unseemly for one of the royal family to know something that the Recorder does not," she sniffed. "If you would, enlighten me?"

"Ah – only that he is wearing thinner than you know! He does not know how to woo a woman, nor how to sustain a relationship with a woman. You see, he prefers men!" Arwen managed to choke. Manarie got the humor of the situation and her lips twitched into a broad smile.

"Well. This could be profitable. Glorfindel is rather… more inclined to court men, is he not?" Manarie's smile grew a bit wicked, and with her hawk-like facial structure, she looked a bit discomfiting.

Arwen, however, knew what she was thinking. "Oh – this would be simply _too _precious an opportunity to waste! It could finally show Father that he is making ever more ridiculous attempts at finding me a suitor… why, he didn't even research this one properly!"

* * *

Two days after the conversation with Arwen, Manarie invited Glorfindel to lunch in her hut. It was a clever scheme on her part – she could evasively question him on the subject of Legolas, and she could also slip him a particular herb that would cause him to feel a tad off-color for the remainder of the day. If Legolas _was_ interested in him, he would be concerned enough to visit.

Or so she hoped. Manarie sighed mentally as she pondered the stubborn qualities of men, and the never-ending confusion they posed to women. Who could figure men out?

"Anything exciting happen on the border?" she asked, helping herself to more salad greens.

"Nay, only the usual. I did not notice if there were more orcs than usual – their numbers are multiplying monthly, or so it seems," Glorfindel said. He picked at his food, looking nervous. "The Shadow is ever-growing in the East. I don't understand; surely he was destroyed at the ending of the Second Age?"

Manarie silently cursed herself for bringing up this topic. "Who can tell? If there _is_ another war, there will certainly be more work for me."

"That is the truth," Glorfindel agreed. "Recorders are _always_ busy during a war."

Manarie sat, thinking about what he had said. "Wait. The Shadow would not have been destroyed if the Ring had not been destroyed. Did Isildur not covet the One Ring for himself?"

"He was killed by its betrayal," Glorfindel confirmed. "The One Ring was lost. It has not been found since the beginning of the Third Age, and it is unlikely that it will be found now."

Manarie nodded, sighing. "Enough of this sobering talk. How do you fare with the ambassadors from Mirkwood? They are all too stuck-up to visit _me_, so I must get my news elsewhere, sadly." Her hand, seemingly by its own volition, picked up a quill and dipped it in ink, scrawling a header on a parchment in sloppy Quenya. Manarie's normal writing was especially messy for a Recorder; she re-copied everything she wrote into neater, more legible hand before the records were filed.

"The only tolerable one among them is the prince himself, and he is stuck pretending to court my sister!" Glorfindel said in exasperation. "They speak constantly – or it seems so – of the magnificence of the Mirkwood king's palace. They consider us back-woods country folk – us, who pay host to the Lorien delegation nine times out of ten!" He laughed a little. "Legolas and I have taken to 'hunting' in order to escape them all!"

"Ah, yes – Legolas. I have heard good things about him from Arwen. It was actually on that subject that I threw your father out; I do _not_ split up couples, especially not those made for one another, and especially when one part of the couple has no interest in the other, on the grounds that they are female!" She watched Glorfindel carefully as she spoke the last words, and was pleased to notice surprise cross his face.

"The Mirkwood prince prefers men to women?" he asked.

Manarie gave him one of her stern looks. "Now, Glorfindel, I realize that he is here and available, but that is no reason for you to lead him on, you wolf!"

"I never said anything of the sort," Glorfindel said, sounding stung. "He is actually quite attractive. I would gladly court him, and not only because he is 'here and available!'"

Manarie added another point to her perception skills, inwardly gleeful. Outwardly, she sniffed. "They must maintain a pretense, or Lord Elrond will come harass me again. Arwen promised me she would at least _pretend_ to be interested in him, so that her father would not pester me."

Glorfindel snorted. "Ah, that's likely. Arwen Undomniel does _not_ change her mind once she has made it. She will be wed to Aragorn, and will give up her grace for him, too."

Manarie nodded sadly. "Well, the things people do for love! If I thought she would listen, I might try to convince her otherwise."

"Would you really?" Glorfindel asked shrewdly, eyeing her. Manarie stared down at her salad for a moment, then looked back up at him, her face blank.

"Truly, I do not know."

* * *

Manarie allowed herself a small, satisfied smile when Arwen brought her the news that Glorfindel had suddenly and unexpectedly fallen a bit ill. She reported that he looked somewhat green, which was hardly a healthy color. Arwen also looked suspiciously at her, as if guessing that she was the cause of the illness.

"Well, how else are we to know if Legolas is attracted to the man? He will surely be concerned if it is so."

Arwen's glare sharpened. "He's miserable."

"All for a good cause," Manarie said, nonplussed. "Now, we will watch, and see what the prince does.

Much to Manarie's dismay, Legolas did not visit his friend's bedside. Glorfindel seemed a bit dismayed as well, and left the Healers in a slump the next day.

"Glorfindel, wait!" Manarie heard. She ducked behind a handy tree, watching as Legolas jogged up to him. "I heard you were feeling unwell."

"A momentary matter; I must have eaten something that disagreed with me," Glorfindel replied, casting a somewhat suspicious glance to Manarie's hut. _Oh, bother. I do hope he doesn't suspect me. That won't do._

"I suppose," Legolas said, following his gaze. "You are feeling better, though?" he sounded a little anxious, something that made Manarie brighten.

"'Las, I assure you, there is no need to worry about my health," Glorfindel said with a smile for the other elf. _Oh, he's laying it on._

"Ah- but-" Legolas blushed a bit. Almost unnoticeable, but Manarie spotted it. "I can't help it, my friend."

Manarie could have beaten her head against the wall when she caught the ever-so-slightly crestfallen expression on Glorfindel's face. _Men!_ She thought exasperatedly, and thumped her fists against her knees. _They simply don't communicate properly!_

"Is something going wrong?" Lady Arwen asked in an amused voice, coming up beside her.

"Aiya! Would that elven men _spoke_ their feelings in the proper way, rather than expecting their interest to convey itself through minds!" Manarie said despairingly.

Arwen let something escape her that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "That bad, are they? 'Las actually _talks _to me, as does Glorfindel, and I have found myself wishing I could knock their heads together. Often."

Manarie smiled. "_You_ aren't the one who stakes her reputation on success," she said. "Sometimes I feel as if my task has become impossible!"

"Aragorn and I were never that stubborn," Arwen said confidently. Then she gave Manarie a suspicious sidelong glance. "Were we?"

"Thank the Valar, no," Manarie said, relieved. "I didn't have to help you two along at all, though I have been sending Lord Elrond anonymous letters, advising him not to try and keep you apart. So far, I doubt he's listening."

"He isn't," Arwen said with a sigh. "'Las, so far, has been his most spectacular failure, though I don't think he counted on any of the Mirkwood royal family to prefer men over women."

Manarie grinned. "Yes, 'Las does hide it well, doesn't he?"

"Hide what well?" Legolas asked, walking over to them.

"The fact, my friend, that you aren't interested in My Lady, simply because she's female," Manarie said dryly.

Legolas responded with a wry smile. "Ah, that is the truth," he said ruefully. "Though, if you were male I would marry you in a heartbeat."

Arwen laughed herself sick at that, with Manarie thumping her on the back when she began to sputter for breath. "Oh, that was good to hear!" she said amid her fit. "Now, I must away before my chambermaids come looking for me." She smiled cryptically at Manarie. "Good luck to you."

Legolas watched her go, confused. "Good luck in what?"

"In the most difficult case in my career," Manarie sighed. "My subjects are _quite_ stubborn, and neither of them will admit anything to each other."

"Your career?" Legolas asked, confused.

Manarie lit up, as she always did when given a chance to talk about her 'profession.' "I'm something of a matchmaker, here in Rivendell. People know what I do, but I try not to meddle without permission, or in hopeless cases. Take Lord Elrond, for example. He tried to employ me for the problem of Arwen, but I flatly refused."

Legolas was silent for a few moments, considering. "Well- there's someone- if you could help at all-"

"'Las, it's what I do," Manarie said calmly, not letting her excitement show. "Come, let us discuss in more detail, in a more private place. My office." She grabbed his wrist and half-dragged him to the secluded, musty record hut. Bustling him into the chair, she got tea for them both and pulled a new quill from her collection, selecting a sheet of parchment and an ink bottle.

"This is your home?" Legolas asked.

"Well, the Recorder's home," she said, trimming the quill. "And that is I." She licked the end of the quill, dipped it in the ink, and wrote Legolas's name at the top of the parchment. "Now, for the sake of my notes, who is it you have your eye on? Don't worry; only I will ever see this."

"I-" Legolas began, then laughed. "The irony of it is incredible – Lord Elrond brings me to woo his daughter, but I have more interest in wooing his son!"

Manarie wrote Glorfindel's name below Legolas's, praising the Valar mentally for her good fortune. "So what is the problem? It is no secret that Glorfindel prefers men to women, though it is not unheard of to find him with both." _At the same time,_ her mind added, but she did not add it aloud. "Have you already told him?"

Legolas gave her a look that said she was out of her mind. She simply stared at him. "Are you _mad_? How would I simply _tell_ him something like that?"

Manarie did an admirable job of imitating Legolas's voice and Mirkwood accent. "'Glorfindel, I find myself attracted to you and was wondering if you were spoken for,'" she said, still staring at him.

"It isn't that _simple_," Legolas protested. "What if he isn't interested in _me_? He's my friend, and I do not wish to cause him to feel uncomfortable around me."

"Valar save me," Manarie cried, throwing up her hands, "from the insecurity of men! How many admirers have you had? Many, yes? How many have told you of their attraction? Many, yes? Now, here is the key question; how many did you remain friends with, or develop friendships with?"

Legolas glared at her – a sure sign that she was right and he was wrong. "That is not the point! I am not Glorfindel, neither is he me."

"But he is not so callous as to reject a friend because they wished to be something more!" Manarie said, waving her quill. "Else wise, you would not be attracted to him!"

Legolas pressed his lips together. "What would I say to him?"

Manarie would have indulged in a small dance of triumph if it had not been entirely undignified. "Nothing, yet. First, let me talk to him, get to know how he feels about you. In the meantime…" Manarie looked at him sternly. "Avoid the words 'my friend,' if he is attracted to you, that's a clear 'no.' Use his name – give him a nickname if possible. Nothing _inane_, mind you, just shorten his name… he will eventually get used to it.

"For the Valar's sake, next time he is ill, bring him something – a well-wisher's gift. Find out his day of birth, gift him at Midsummer, which is approaching… either practical or beautiful, no joke gifts. Practical _and_ aesthetic is the best way to go. Embrace him when you greet him. Casual touches – a hand on the shoulder, an embrace when you are together… all of which send signals."

Legolas stared at her. "You truly _are_ a professional!"

Manarie allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. "Yes, that I am. Now off with you, before he suspects you are attracted to _me_!"

Manarie finished taking down her observations of Legolas and laid down her quill, flexing her cramped fingers. She blew on the parchment to dry it, rolled it up and stowed it under her desk. It would _not_ do for someone to see it, not even Legolas. Manarie rolled her shoulders, ridding them of cramps, and closed her eyes briefly in rest. When she opened them again, she stared at the wall, turning the two meetings over in her head.

_Glorfindel_. He believed that Legolas wasn't interested in him, and did not wish to anger his father, so he kept silent. He might make a few oh-so-subtle hints, but nothing that could be construed as romantic by the casual observer. He respected Legolas, and not only because of his position. He was also reputed to be a good lover, and an attentive partner.

_Legolas._ He was used to being pursued, not being the pursuer. He was shy to take the first step and reluctant to put himself in a position where he might be the one rejected. Yet he clearly had no trouble standing up for himself, or for what he thought, as evidenced by his argument with Manarie.

_Legolas and Glorfindel. _They would be a well-balanced pair, if not a life-match. Legolas would not be awed by Glorfindel's rank as some were, and Glorfindel's reluctance to be the aggressor would draw Legolas out of his shell. They were already friends, and both were excellent fighters. Friendship is essential to a working relationship, and the warrior bond would create a bond of trust. Glorfindel would help Legolas with his self-esteem issue (Manarie would love to know how he got that) and Legolas would knock Glorfindel's opinion of himself down.

_How to do it._ Before, she had been a go-between for many couples she helped, passing love letters and messages. This would _not_ do this time, not only because she knew Glorfindel so well, but because Legolas would not believe _he_ had done the wooing if she had too heavy a hand in the matter. She would have to play counselor and advisor to the both of them, this time.

_No trouble; I can do it that way, too. No payment will be accepted, either. _She usually charged in quills and good parchment, but _this_ pair proved to be one of her rarer cases, where she was _sure_ it would develop, grow, and _work_. If she hadn't been certain, she _would _have charged. In many, many quills and bottles of ink. _Because these two are going to be more stubborn than anyone I've helped before.

* * *

_

"What seems to be the trouble, Glorfindel?" Manarie bustled around, making tea.

"Mana, did Legolas approach you about… us?" he asked hesitantly.

Manarie stared at him until he scowled and opened his mouth to speak, and then cut him off. "You know I cannot tell you that," she said sternly. "I cannot say yea or nay. All my clients come to me in confidence."

Glorfindel sat down heavily in one of the chairs. "I feared you would say that," he sighed.

Manarie watched him over the rim of her teacup. "Out of curiosity, why do you ask?"

Glorfindel groaned and sipped his tea. "His Highness the Prince seems _determined _to test my control at every opportunity," he said. "The way he _looks_ at me, the way he _smiles_ at me, it all seems as if he's _courting_ me, but I cannot be certain!" He went on to regale her about all the subtle signals Legolas was passing on, including his "cute" habit of calling the Rivendell elf 'Findel.

Manarie resolved that she would dance a little jig when Glorfindel left – she was long overdue for one, and Legolas had taken to her advice as a duck takes to water. "So where is the problem? Talk to him. He is _plainly_ courting you, and rather professionally, too."

Again, Glorfindel gave her a suspicious look, one she chose to ignore. "What would father say?" Glorfindel asked miserably. "Surely he would disapprove."

"I will have words with your father on the subject of Legolas. Do not fret; he listens to me now that he knows I do not fear his rank."

"What if I'm wrong? What if he is only being friendly?"

Manarie gave him the same look as before; the blank stare. "What if a thousand halflings could sit upon a seamstress' needle?" she asked tartly. "You must not fear for what _could_ happen, not in a situation such as this." _Valar save me from _men"You must take a chance, or you will never succeed. If you are wrong, then I am sure you will go on being friends, and that Legolas will – ah – be less forward, when he knows it is sending signals."

"I was afraid you would say _that_, too!" Glorfindel said. "I don't have the courage – I _am_ interested in him, and not only because he is 'here and available,' as you put it. He's – oh, he's caring, and a little shy, wonderful to be around, and a fellow warrior. I'm mortified I will misstep."

Manarie sighed. "I suppose I can sympathize, at least with the fear. And you sound quite smitten. Have you thought further…?"

"Have I thought that perchance I am more than smitten?" Glorfindel asked quietly. "Yes, quite a bit. And my reasoning, partially, is that I do not wish to be in a one-sided relationship… I fear I love him, and I fear he does not feel the same way."

Manarie was startled that her efforts had borne so much fruit so early. They would _definitely _be a life-match. "You simply must talk to him. That is all the advice I can give, and I rarely give that advice. I usually placate nervous suitors with the pledge that I would carry the news myself… but if I have been reading Legolas correctly, he would not believe it."

Glorfindel nodded thoughtfully, not even casting a suspicious glance her way. "I will speak with him, next time we go hunting together. Only…" he hesitated. "Mana, what do I _give_ him as a courting-gift?"

Manarie was just as baffled as he. She stared at the wall for a moment, picking up a quill and chewing on it. "He has a bow, yes?" at Glorfindel's nod, she made a small exasperated noise in her throat. "Clothes imply that you think he has not much taste in clothing. A sword is too… violent. Anything intimate would be too soon, and giving food or money is crass."

Glorfindel suddenly sat up straight. "What about a pair of good fighting knives – the kind that strap to the back, that are drawn easily? Ivory handles, maybe?"

Manarie considered. She had seen Legolas fight. He was an amazing archer, and peerless in Rivendell, but he also had a hidden violence deep within that made him love close-quarter fighting. "The knives would be an excellent gift," she said, and removed the quill from her mouth to take another sip of tea.

* * *

Her sources were wonderful. As soon as Glorfindel and Legolas left on their latest hunting expedition, Manarie was not far behind. Dressed in the form-fitting, drably-colored garb of a scout and a border guard, her hair confined to one single braid, her feet bare.

She flitted along in the branches silently behind them; this was her other secret talent, and the one she _kept_ secret. She was no kind of fighter and an abysmal scout (too many leaves in one's hair and not enough company to make it worthwhile), but her sneaking and spying skills were beyond compare.

Glorfindel finally stopped, and Manarie did as well, resting gratefully against the tree trunk and remaining absolutely still, lest one of them happened to look her way. "'Las, I… wanted to talk to you," he said in a rush, not meeting the other elf's eyes.

Manarie cursed silently when, instead of looking eager, Legolas appeared to brace himself for the worst. "Yes?"

"I – lately, you've been very – I mean, I – we…" Glorfindel stammered.

Legolas laid a hand on his arm and attempted to duck down so he could look Glorfindel in the eyes. A blush stained the older elf's cheeks and he looked away again. "Out with it, 'Findel, what's been bothering you?"

Glorfindel let the silence stretch for a moment too long, and Legolas faltered, dropped his hand, and stepped away. "I – I've been too forward, haven't I?" he said, his own eyes downcast. Manarie was ready to beat her head against the tree trunk.

Glorfindel was at least smart enough to recognize when he had nearly made an irreparable blunder. "No! 'Las, the _problem_ was that _I_ was not used to being courted and I didn't know how to respond – but I talked to Ma- to someone, and they said to just _talk_ to you and I am, and-" Glorfindel stopped. "I'm babbling."

"But – so you don't mind-" Legolas's voice regained some of its vigor and he looked up from the ground.

"Oh, _please_ do forgive me for being so dense," Glorfindel said earnestly, looking up. "I actually wanted to ask – well, would you _mind_ being spoken for? By me?"

Manarie clamped both hands over her mouth firmly, reminding herself that bursting into laughter would _not_ be good, no matter how amusing the dumbfounded expression on Legolas's face was. "You – of _course_ I don't mind, you _dolt_!" Legolas said, covering the distance between them and locking the Rivendell elf into a tight embrace.

"Oh," Glorfindel said weakly, returning it after a moment of hesitation. "Oh. Well, I _have_ been an insecure fool, haven't I?"

_Yes you have_, Manarie thought with satisfaction. _Now give him his courting-gift, goose._

Glorfindel pulled away slightly. "Aiya! I _am_ a fool! I've forgotten – I got you something…"

Legolas voiced a small protest. "You didn't have to – I've been the one doing most of the courting, I should have gotten _you_ a courting-gift." Legolas looked hesitant to accept the bundle that Glorfindel shoved into his hands.

"No, take it, please. I wanted to do something for you." He watched, perhaps even more nervous, as Legolas opened the velvet-wrapped package…

He needn't have worried. As soon as Legolas spotted the knives, he gasped in wonder. Manarie cursed silently and craned her neck, trying to see, but could only spot the sheath of the one on top, which was ivory inlaid delicately with gold. "I – it's too wonderful, I'd ruin them!" Legolas said, distressed.

"No, keep them. It's my courting-gift to you, beloved," Glorfindel said, and gently cupped Legolas's chin, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

Manarie made a face, creeping silently down from the tree. _And my work here is done. Now, I shall leave them. People in love are so boring.

* * *

_

Two days later, she was sitting in her office with her hands neatly folded in front of her on her desk, pretending to listen to Lord Elrond's tirade about his daughter, her suitor, his son, and his Recorder.

When he got to accusing her of undermining his authority, however, she rose from her chair. "My Lord Elrond," she said sharply, "I have no intention of 'undermining your authority.' I am your loyal subject and your faithful Recorder. It is my duty to be a trusted and unbiased advisor, and you may always count on me as that.

"However," she said, her voice growing even sharper, "I draw the line at making your daughter and your son miserable! Look at what your attempts – your _laughable_ attempts – at matchmaking are doing to your daughter! She is afraid to even voice her opinions and her thoughts around you, for fear you will disapprove. Furthermore, I will _not_ split up those who are truly in love. No, no, _no!_ Now unless you have _constructive_ things to tell me, you will remove yourself from my office!"

Lord Elrond gaped at her for a moment, looking like a landed fish, and stood rigid. "As the Recorder, you say it is your duty – your _sworn_ duty – to remain _unbiased_. If this matchmaking business does not bias you in the favor of this or that person, then I clearly do not know the definition of bias," he said finally.

Manarie narrowed her eyes and rose from her seat, advancing on him for the second time within the month. "I realize that you love your daughter, my Lord Elrond," she said quietly. "But you will make her utterly miserable if you force her to cross the sea with you. Yes, do not pretend I do not know," she said, waving aside his surprised exclamation. "Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel spoke with me upon their last visit; how could they avoid it? I am the Recorder. It will hurt you to lose her, yes, but what being, whether they be human or elf or dwarf, lives their life entirely without pain? You are being selfish, My Lord, in keeping her by your side always. She is not a small child anymore, and she is fully intelligent and capable enough to make her own decisions. So leave it be, lest you would have her pine herself to the grave."

The last words were like a slap in the face, or so it looked by Lord Elrond's expression. He leaned forward as if to threaten her, and that was the last straw for Manarie. Swiftly, she grabbed the front of his immaculate robes and half-dragged him to the door, throwing it open and throwing _him_ out, shouting at the top of her voice. "Shame, Lord! The Recorder has immunity, for shame to threaten her!" Manarie shouted, trembling with rage. "Shall I tell all gathered here what you have been doing about the so-called 'problem' of your daughter? As if they do not know already! If you do not wish to be disgraced further, you will leave this place, and only return on _my _sufferance!"

And with that, Manarie slammed the door in the surprised elf lord's face, sinking into her chair with a quiet chuckle. After a moment's hesitation, she rose, setting her quill aside, and proceeded to do a little jig around her office.

* * *

A/N: I was actually very gratified when I finished this piece... I haven't been able to write a complete work of fan fiction, and have it turn out well, in, well, ever. Mana is one of my favorite characters to date - she's so me, but without being Mary-Sueish.


End file.
